


Sing to Me My Sweet Shadow

by Pseudonym_I_Anonymous



Category: Sing (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Betrayal, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Revenge, Robbery, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9223058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudonym_I_Anonymous/pseuds/Pseudonym_I_Anonymous
Summary: Did you really think Buster's dad got all that money from washing cars?





	

Mike darted into one of the many alleyways of the big city, trying to keep his frantic panting to a minimum. For a thirteen year old he still wasn’t particularly big and managed to slip behind a dumpster. It was the first time he was glad he was glad for his small pre-pubescent body.

“Find that fucking rat. I’m going to kill the thieving bastard,” he recognized Matt’s voice anywhere. Mike dared to take a peek from his hiding spot to see about five of them on his tail. He’d pissed them off real bad for even Matt to be there. Guy was supposed to be their boss, which meant he never got his hands dirty unless it was serious. Apparently money was pretty serious.

“I think he went that way sir,” and his eyes wandered to where the beast of a man was pointing. There was a shadow moving darting around the corner. Probably just a cat wandering around at night, but enough to throw them off his trail. He thanked whatever God was looking out for him. Even if he probably didn’t deserve it.

“Then what are you waiting for you lazy shits? I want my money,” The boss began to scream. His face starting to turn an unhealthy shade of red under the lamp lights. Mike could feel his heart pound in fear. If they caught him, he knew he was dead.

He watched as they tore down the street, thankfully not lingering long. When he finally saw them disappear into the nights, he let out a breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. The cold air burned at his lungs, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking larger and larger, desperate gasps. Tears stung at his eyes and he couldn’t stop himself from throwing up. The bile burning his mouth.

“Are you alright, son?” someone said from behind him.

The voice pierced his thoughts, and sent him falling backwards. His hand shot out to the instrument case next to him. He quickly turned to look at who was talking to him, never turn your back on an enemy a voice in the back of his mind whispered.

“Woah there, I’m not gonna hurt ya. Just wanted to know if you were alright,” the man said, his voice smooth. Nobody ever wanted to know if he was alright, unless they wanted something from him. It was hard to see in the dark, but the man could easily tower over and over power Mike. He could try to run, but he didn’t know if he would make it. Puking had taken a lot out of him.

“Yeah I’m fine,” Mike managed to say clutching the case close to his body.

“Are you sure cause you seem to be bleeding pretty bad from your arm son.”

Although still suspicious, Mike spared a quick glance at his arm. He winced, it did look pretty bad, and now that he had time to concentrate, felt pretty bad too.

“You know, there’s a hospital not to far from he-”

“No, no hospitals,” he quickly interrupted him, he knew what the man was talking about. His mom worked there as a medical assistant and he could never let her know what he had been up to. She would kill him, come home crack open a case of alcohol and then kill him. As much as she had put in effort to protect her son, she could only take so much sometimes.

“No hospitals, I understand, my son is the same way. So, how about we go back to my house and I can take care of those wounds for you boy,” the man said taking a step towards Mike and into the light.

“What makes you fucking think that I want your help,” Mike spat, “why are you hiding out here anyways.”

“Well son, why are you hiding out here?”

Mike’s head was starting to spin, but he held himself upright, proud, “None of your damn business.”

With whatever dignity he had left, he stood up and attempted to march out of the alleyway. However, the ground seemed to rise up with him, and before he knew it, the world went dark. 

*****

His head was throbbing in time with his heart, and the pain dragged him from his sleep. The bed he suddenly realized, although extremely comfortable, was not his.

Fuck where was he anyways. He didn't recognize the place at all, a quick peek out the window only confirmed that he'd never been around this part of town much before. It was too nice an area. Probably the upper part of town, he'd been through the streets before, but only in the dark in passing. A sharp pain ran through his arm as he moved it. It was wrapped tightly in bandages.

The memory of the night before rushed into his head, there was alcohol, which explained the headache, music, and most importantly the two hundred thousand dollars he'd stolen right out from under those losers’ noses.

A certain two hundred thousand stuffed into his instrument case, that he couldn't see in the room. He shoved off the covers and began to frantically search the room.  
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” he said tearing through the room, the cash was gone. He’d nearly died for nothing.

The door to the room creaked open, and Mike jumped backwards into the wall. His hand grappled air as he felt around to try to grab the first makeshift weapon he could touch.

“Good morning, son, you're up early. It's only five, the sun is barely awake,” the man chuckled, as if this were some sort of joke. Mike only bared his teeth in the beginnings of a snarl.

“Fuck you,” Mike said, eyes scanning the room for any means of escape. There was a window, but that was shut and would take too much time to open with his arm. On the other hand, he could fight his way out the door way, but then he would need to run fast enough to get to the door. An impossible feat if he got injured again in a fight. And then there was the money. He couldn't leave without it. He’d rather die.

The man watched him for a minute, before bursting out in laughter again. It was almost charming, if it weren't for the fact that he'd just kidnapped Mike and was probably going to kill him for the money too.

Mike studied the man’s face, looking for the familiar traces of hardness and violence. He was wearing glasses that framed his big brown eyes well. The man’s nose was large, but surprisingly hadn't been visibly smashed in or broken a few times. He had an easy smile, which didn’t hurt his looks.

“I'm sure you must be hungry. I hope you like pancakes,” the man chirped.

The idea of pancakes made Mike drool and for a minute he dropped his guard. He hadn't had a good breakfast in ages.

“Why are you helping me?” he asked, an edge in his voice, although much gentler than he’d been since he met the stranger.

“My son is about your age,” he said and then wandered into the hallway as if that explained everything. Mike paused, he could run now, but the stranger hadn’t hurt him yet. There was also breakfast involved. He swiped a pen off of the night stand just in case- the pen was mightier than the sword after all- and followed the man out of the room.

Mike scurried after the man into a dining room where the aroma of pancakes engulfed his senses. The places was a shrine to the New Moon Theatre, with posters hung up everywhere. A small scale version of it was perched on the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, in the doorway to the exit he could see his instrument case and he could feel himself relax.

“I swear I’m not the weird one. My son really loves the theater. Has since he was a little boy,” the man said, getting a dreamy look in his eyes, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m being rude, going on and on about my son. I know why you’re really here.”

He winked, putting two beautiful plates of fluffy pancakes down on the table, “There you go. You’ve got a long day ahead of you I’m sure, so eat up.”

“Thank you, uh, Sir” Mike said scrambling into the seat, before shoving at least half of one of the pancakes into his mouth. They tasted even better than they looked, and they looked like heaven. Those pancakes might have actually been as close to heaven as he was going to get.

“The name is Keaton, Keaton Moon. And slow down there, you’re going to throw up again if you eat too fast,” Keaton said, sitting down in the seat across from Mike.

“Thanks, Moon,” he said, and Keaton Moon just grinned and winked.

“Well son, that’s a lot of money you’re carrying around. Mind if I ask what it’s for?”  


Mike winced, so he had seen the money after all. Well if the man hadn’t already stolen it from him, then maybe he wasn’t going to,“I’m going to New York to study music. It’s my dream. I know I’m good too. So with a little effort, and the money, I’m going to hightail it outta here and make it big.”

“Never give up on your dreams, son,” replied Keaton. Mike shuffled more pancake into his mouth. If he was going to be as tall as his dad one day, then he needed to eat.

“So, why’s your kid so into theatre?” he asked, just trying to keep the conversation up.

“Honestly, I don’t understand it myself, but it makes him happy. Don’t tell him, but one day I’m going to buy him his own theatre. I think it would make his mom happy too.”

“You’re a good man, Sir. I want to be like you one day.”

Keaton didn’t reply, just looked down at his untouched pancakes. Although he was still smiling, for the first time since he’d met him, he seemed sad. Minutes passed in awkward silence, before Keaton spoke up again. This time his voice was more soft, more sad.

“It’s nothing personal Mike. I like you. Honestly, I do but,” he took a deep breath, “and I know it’s may not seem like much of an excuse, but I need that money. Health insurance will only cover so much.”

Mike’s eyes widen. He drops the fork onto the plate and nearly trips on his chair, as he runs for the instrument case.

“They promised me so much. I’m so sorry Mike, but I gotta put my wife, my family, first,” remorse filled Mr. Moon’s voice as he watched Mike, “They told me they wouldn’t kill you.”

“Fuck. Fuck you and your dumb bitch of a wife and family,” Mike said gunning for the door. Maybe they weren’t here yet, maybe- He ripped open the door to see Matt and his goons on the other side. Mike felt his knees wobble, but he forced himself to stay standing. He’d go down with his pride, it was likely all he was going to have left.

“You’ve lost Mike, come on,” one of the more sympathetic goons said. Matt himself pried the instrument case away from Mike. Although Mike let go, he refused to budge from his position in the doorway. Instead he turned to take one more pleading look at Keaton, but Keaton merely stared at his pancakes.

“Sorry, Mike,” Keaton whispered, Mike almost didn’t hear it. He didn’t want to hear it. It wouldn’t make a difference in the end.

“Dad, What’s going on?”

Mike turned to look at the boy coming into the dining room as he was being dragged away. The boy was tiny, even tinier than Mike, with the same innocent big brown eyes as his dad.

“Nothing Buster, just some good people helping me take a bad man away. He’s a thief, tried to steal some money,” his dad said, but the boy wasn’t paying attention. He was staring straight into Mike’s eyes until the door slowly shut.


End file.
